My Mother's Diary
by MirrorOfErisedx
Summary: Luna has just graduated from Hogwarts. Her father gives her a gift, which inspires her to reflect back on the past seven years. From Luna's POV.


A/N: Just a short Luna fic. Assume that the war is over and all is good ) ... 

It's finally happened. I, Luna Lovegood, have graduated from Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry along with my fellow seventh years. Seven years of education. Seven years of adventure. Seven years of importance have passed and I am less than happy to see them go. I'm thinking of my mother, and how she used to tell me "Every end is but a start of something better." Unfortunately, I cannot see what could possibly be better than all this. This place is a haven for me. It holds protection within its walls. It is a place for growing and learning, and a place where I can be who and what I want. But now is the time when I have to make that final decision of what I will do with the rest of my life. I have to admit it's a bit frightening.

"Luna!" My dad's calling my name as he runs toward me. He holds a smile of pride. I can mark one goal off my check list: make my father proud. "I'm so happy for you." He says into my hair as he holds me in a tight embrace. I just smile and return the hug.

"Look. I've got you something." He pulls away from me and takes a package out from inside his cloak. As I open it his eyes are watching mine, waiting to see my expression. "Actually, it's more from your mother than me," he paused, "She would be so proud of you."

I carefully take the paper off the rectangular package to reveal a book; more specifically, a diary (A very worn, tattered one at that). Across the top the title My Life as a Lovegood is scrolled in neat penmanship. "Thank you Daddy! It's the best gift you could have given me." I said gleaming back at him.

"Your mother bought that after you were born. It was kind of her way of doing a baby book. At the end of each day she would write in it, mostly about you. I thought you might want it."

* * *

That night, when I returned home with my dad, I sat up in my room flipping through the pages of my mother's diary. My father was correct in saying it was mostly about me.

_Today I took Luna to the park after we had lunch together. She's almost four years old - I can't believe how much she's grown. We sat on the swings nearly the whole time. She loves the swings, and I think I know why. She's a very observative girl, I see her watching the other children (from the swings we have a whole view of the park). It's odd, I don't think she wants to actually play with them, she just likes to watch..._

_My little girl is not so little anymore. Luna's just turned seven and she's so excited. For the past few years she's been asking her father if she can go to work with him. "Just one day Daddy?" she would plead. He always responded with "you're too young" or "when you're older." Today when Luna asked once again, she squealed with glee when he said she was old enough now. I can hardly image what she'll learn at the Quibbler. Probably something like ogres with powers and invisible creatures that change your mood..._

_Today was a gloomy, rainy day. Me and Luna were cooped up in the house while her father was off at work, I had taken the day off. We decided to make jewelry with stuff from around the house to occupy the afternoon. I made a pair of radish earrings and charmed them so they couldn't go rotten. Luna made a beautiful necklace out of bottle caps. I know, silly right? But we had fun._

This was the last bit of writing in the diary, and I know very well why. I remembered this day much more clearly than any of the others recorded. A number of events closely following this day are still very clear in my mind - the day I witnessed my mother's death, the days I wept in my father's arms for hours at a time, the day I placed flowers on my mothers grave. My eyesight's becoming unclear on account of the tears filling my eyes. I turn the pages, hoping for just a bit more of my mother to hold on to. All I find are blank pages. Seven blank pages completing my mother's diary. I rummage in my desk drawer to find a quill and a bottle of ink. A diary cannot remain unfinished. A diary does not end with the life of the writer, but with the life of its pages. The diary is not finished until not one more word can be crammed onto those pages.

A/N: Did you like it? Please leave a review letting me know what you think!


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